I snorted and shook my head, but deep down, my soul was breaking. Giving her poems wasmyplay.Myidea. How dare he steal it? I rolled my eyes and slumped unhappily in my chair, staring out Austen’s kitchen window. “Why are you so set on her? You’ve only met her a couple of times.”
“Because she’s… she’s peaceful. Honest. There’s something just pure about her, you know? I’ve never met anyone like that. You wouldn’t believe the drama, the narcissism, and the pettiness I’ve dealt with.”
“Oh, come on, they can’t all be bad.”
“You’d be surprised.” He blew out a long breath and swiped a hand over his face like the memory had suddenly made him sweat. “I’ve been punched and spit on by women I cared about. Had my bank account drained, my dog stolen, my car… I won’t even tell you what one woman did to my car. I didn’t even call HAZMAT. I just scrapped it. My house wasn’t as lucky, though.”
“Holy guacamole,” I breathed.
“That’s just the stuff I called the cops about. The stuff that hurt the worst was right here.” He poked a thumb at his chest. “Ever hear of gaslighting? My last girlfriend had me convinced I was going crazy—like, my doctor was even writing me some hard-core scripts, but it was her all along. The one before that was manic, or whatever the word is these days. She needed medical help, not a boyfriend. And the one before that…” he sighed. “She left me for my best friend.”
I could hear my heart thudding in my ears. How miserable! Could a string of failures like that all be bad luck? “You sure can pick ‘em.”
“I guess so.” He drummed his fingers on the table, and his eyes took on a haunted look I’d never seen there before. “I’ve been looking for so long to find someone I could trust, let my guard down with. Someone who would stick around. I could spend the rest of my life with someone like that. I just want to be able to make her happy and finally be the good guy for the right kind of woman.”
I stifled a groan and looked out the kitchen window again. It served me right. Ihadto become best buddies with the new guy in town, and now, I felt sorry for him. But did I feel sorry enough to not only walk away from all my hopes, but to help him chase aftermyhappiness?
One thing he said kept ringing back to me. I’d had years to turn Jess’s head and never managed it. Austen had done it in just a few weeks. What hope did I have that she could ever fall for me if even a rich, tall, handsome, and interesting guy like Austen had only barely caught her notice?
She really was out of my league. But maybe if I worked a little behind the scenes, I could help two people I cared about find a little of their own happiness. Even if it killed me.
“Fine,” I mumbled. “I have an idea for you.”
Jess
Austen picked me up in his truck, a brand new silver Chevy with velvety leather, LED floor lighting, and about every bell and whistle you could put on a truck. It even had a seat massager built in. I felt bad just getting into it because in the middle of winter, there was no way to keep from getting at least a little mud on my shoes between our front door and the driveway.
“Oh, that’s okay,” he said as I tried to swipe my feet in a patch of snow. “It’s a work truck.”
“Doesn’t look much like one.”
He held the door for me and grinned. “See? Rubber floor pans. Good to go.”
I climbed in and glanced around at the interior as Austen walked to the driver’s door. The thing was beautiful. Way too beautiful to be a ranch truck. But Austen was new at all this and hadn’t yet found out just how fast something like this would get trashed.
He closed the door on his side and reached for the ignition button. “Dusty said Beaufort’s would be the place to go. Are they any good?”
“Very.” I was still ogling the truck, admiring the purr of the sleek new engine, and the soft glow of all the interior features. I was turning around from checking out the back seat when I caught Austen smiling. “What?”
He chuckled. “I’ve had women admire my sports cars, but I never thought a girl would drool over a pickup.”
“You have sports cars?”
“Not anymore. Sold them when I bought this.”
I grinned. “Good trade.”
“You really do like trucks, don’t you? I gotta ask; what got you into being a mechanic? And don’t say it was just your dad because I’ll be disappointed.”
I let my finger trail along the perfectly stitched leather armrest. “Well, I guess you’ll have to be disappointed. Dad has this hotrod, a ‘33 Ford Coupe he bought right after he and my mom got married, but he never had a son to work on it with. So, he taught me. We spent a lot of nights and weekends huddled around that thing.”
“That’s all? Really?”
“Not totally. I used to think I wanted to be a television news reporter, but the more I saw of living ‘on stage,’ as I used to call it when I was queening, the less I wanted it. And I guess I got tired of everyone telling me what they thought I should do, what was expected.”
“So you went and did the opposite?”
I shrugged. “Pretty much. After my tour was up, I was homesick, so I did what seemed like going home. Besides, there’s good money in it if you know what you’re doing.”